The Way She Loves Me

Love isn’t always fireworks or loud love songs.

Sometimes, it’s the way she listens when I talk about things I barely understand myself.

Or how she says my name like it matters.

She knows the version of me I show to the world

the jokes, the calm, the chill vibe.

But she also knows the version underneath.

The one that overthinks everything.

The one that gets talks a lot and gets nowhere.

The one that sometimes forgets everything.

And still... she stays.

With patience. With warmth.

With eyes that say, “You don’t have to be perfect to be loved.”

I don’t always know how to express the infinite love I have for her.

But I’m trying.

In texts that mean more than they look.

In the way I remember her favourite dessert.

In how I write about her, hoping she’ll read between the lines.

And yeah, sometimes I just want to hold her.

To feel her there, real and warm and close.

Not to say anything. Just to be near.

Because some kinds of comfort don’t need words.

She’s not just part of my story.

She’s the reason some pages exist.

Love like that?

At seventeen?

Feels like magic.

But real.

Me and L💕